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“Hold him steady,” A cruel voice ordered.
He thrashed, trying to get out of the hold, but he was too weak from blood loss to do much. Someone pulled his hair, forcing his head back, and a hand clamped over his nose.
No.
No!
He tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let them do this, he couldn’t-
He couldn’t breathe. He had to- he couldn’t-
A rough hand forced his mouth open, and he couldn’t pull away, not before a fiery liquid was poured into his mouth. He tried to keep his throat closed, he knew what has coming, he couldn’t-
He couldn’t breathe -
His throat opened involuntarily, and he coughed as fire burned his throat, half choking as more was poured down, no, no -
Fire consumed him, all he knew was pain. Vaguely, just barely inside his awareness, he registered the cup being pulled away, something about dragging something out, but he couldn’t understand what the words meant. Not against the fire, the pain, please just stop just make it stop-
Fire was all he knew for so long, fire so hot it was cold, shivering even against the sweat that soaked him, an all encompassing, burning flame that burned from the inside out, hollowing him. He hurt. He ached. He didn’t know what was going on, he couldn’t pay attention to anything but the fiery pain.
There was once when he finally got above it enough to feel something else. To realize he was on a cold stone floor, hands and ankles chained so far behind him that it forced his back to arch. Then he was being rolled over, and the hands were back, and so was the cup, and he tried to fight, he did, he really did, but any strength he’d had was long gone-
Fire consumed him again.
~~~~~~~~~
In his weakest moments, the ones where the pain let up just a bit, where he could feel wind biting through his clothing and hitting cold sweat, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he deserved this. If this was retribution for every death he’d ever been the cause of, for every tear he’d ever caused, for all the blood he’d spilt. It wouldn’t surprise him, in the end. He couldn’t ask for the pain to stop, not now that he realized. He let the few tears he had left fall with his last few moments of clarity.
~~~~~~~~
He wasn’t sure why he knew the hands were so important this time. All he knew was a deep instinct that he had to get away, this was bad, this was very, very bad-
He kept his jaw clenched shut, held his breath for as long as he could. It wasn’t enough, in the end. He failed to stop them, failed to stop the liquid from pouring down his throat, fire that was almost strangely muted running through him-
His breathe caught in his chest, a hard ball stopping him, and he starting coughing, choking, barely getting any air in, gasping for relief that never came.
There was a hand on him again. He tried to buck it off, but he couldn’t move, even less than before now that he couldn’t breathe.
But the hand didn’t hold him down, cruel fingers with nails digging into his skin. It didn’t dig into his jaw, determined to open his mouth. It moved him instead, the air getting easier to breathe, now, another hand rubbing hard at his chest, and the next wheeze brought in a little more air than before.
Then something was put to his lips.
He let out a noise, of some sort, and tried to move his head, but a hand gently kept it in place. The thing came up to his lips again, and he kept his lips together. Not again, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He would die this time, he knew he would.
A different sound than before passed over his head, but he couldn’t place what it was. The thing was gone from his mouth.
And then there were fingers gently pinching his nose shut.
No.
No!
He keened, he knew what that sound was this time, he tried to move to thrash to get away he didn’t want to die! But the hands holding him still stayed ever gentle, and he had to get breathe, he had to, and his mouth opened.
The liquid that poured in was so cloyingly sweet it surprised him, and he choked, determined not to swallow it even if he had to breathe. More was poured in despite his protests, but he wouldn’t swallow, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t!
There was a hand at his throat-
No nonononono, please, please, don’t, don’t!
It happened anyways, throat muscles moving with the hand gently rubbing despite his muted protests. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gasped, more liquid being poured in every time, the hand at his throat never stopping. He barely noticed the fire receding, too caught up in this new feeling of humiliating helplessness. Voice barely started to filter into his consciousness, murmured, soothing tones that he couldn’t decipher. All he knew was a strangely safe feeling as his consciousness wavered, wobbled, and then was gone altogether.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He shifted, feeling a burning deep in his chest. He nearly startled out of his skin when a hand gently readjusted a blanket he didn’t even realize was on him.
And then he was gasping, shaking, pulling away he had to get away-
Gentle hands grabbed his wrists, touch firm but feather-light. They pulled him into a warm chest, solid in spite of his shaking, quickly weakening frame.
“It’s alright, Link,” a voice rumbled, “It’s alright, you’re safe.”
The words passed through one ear and went out the other, leaving nothing behind but a slight sense of safety. Something cool was brought to his lips again, and he tried to jerk his head away, but was hampered by the warm body behind him.
“No, come on, Link, you have to drink. Please,” the voice spoke again, and he whimpered.
“I know. I know, Link, but you have to drink.”
Whatever it was touched his lips again, and he let out another whimper, but drank. He didn’t understand why the body behind him sagged in relief, didn’t understand why the voice whispered that they were proud of him. He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense, least of all the cool sweetness that began to smother the burning. But with that relief came a wave of exhaustion, and he was asleep before the bottle could be pulled away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everything was heavy the next time he woke. There was someone shaking him, and he couldn’t help the small moan that came out.
“I know, but you need this,” the same someone said.
They propped him up from behind, his head flopping into the space between shoulder and neck, and his eyes fluttered open, just enough to catch sight of red and blue tattoos and a pair of eyes, one scarred over, the other blue and kind. Just enough to feel safe.
There was something hard against his lips, and he drank.